Halls of the Dark Muse

She Would Not Die

There was a lady fair
and three roses she had
been given

The first of virgin white
upon her touch it punctured
her maidenhood, she uttered
out a cry in a spill of blood

The second was passion red
but how it flamed her skin
pricked by its thorny touch
how she bled

The third flushed in pink
but as sweet aroma she inhaled
it pierced through her soul
and to the ground she fell

Thrice she cried
as thrice she died
and with each turn
upon her lips a vow never
to wilt again but
the grave kept calling
her name

She was drawn away
for each of her pains
first it was her body broken
second it was her heart shattered
third her spirit was stolen

Still she rose again
in fiery determination
as she looked into the sun
and fed upon its light
to live again.